


magical clothes. what.

by AnguishofMyLove



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010), Kill la Kill, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kill la Kill, Gen, M/M, but that's about it, hummingbird!Toothiana, i didn't really know anything about klk until i got the suggestion and i searched it a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnguishofMyLove/pseuds/AnguishofMyLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He honestly hadn’t meant to get into a fight with one of the members of the student council but he figures there’s only so many positive ways for things to go when he confronted Snotlout Jorgenson about the possible person who took his father. He really didn’t think things through there.</p><p>OR</p><p>The Kill La Kill AU I didn't know anyone wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	magical clothes. what.

**Author's Note:**

> [randomrangerblue](http://randomrangerblue.tumblr.com) replied: hm…. what about Hijack KLK AU?
> 
> i didn't post this right away with the intention of reading through this to look at mistakes but i'm too lazy so i just went and posted it ;P

When Jack’s brown hair disappears from his sight, Hiccup sighs and finally lets himself limp the last few meters to his house—or as much of a house as it is. Every step he takes, his left ankle throbs hotly, but he’s sure that it’s mostly because he forced himself to haste a retreat the whole time with Jack. It’s gonna hurt a hell lot more come tomorrow morning, along with all the bruises around his body, but he’s going to take this one step—heh—at a time.

He honestly hadn’t meant to get into a fight with one of the members of the student council—he thinks she might be Ruff but he couldn’t be sure, he’s a little iffy on the details, he may or may not be blocking it at the moment—but he figures there’s only so many positive ways for things to go when he confronted Snotlout Jorgenson about the possible person who took his father. He really didn’t think things through there.

He stumbles and hits on a wall by his side. He looks at it, and then up. It’s a worn down and a barely intact wall, but it’s a wall of a…well, _house_. He grits his teeth and looks in the distance, he’s not sure if he can take the last however many steps to his space.

Making a decision, he scales the house, tugging on vines along its structure and searching for the door, or even a window of the house. The windows are barred, but after a while, he finds a door, mostly intact and actually seeming sturdy. He tries the knob but it’s locked—surprise, surprise—so he tried pushing it and kicking it, one hand on the wall to steady himself as he kicks with his right leg.

It’s useless, completely useless, and he rages. Rages and grits his teeth and kicks and punches and pushes with his body even though he knows there’s no point. Rages because he does this, sometimes, and it’s been so long since he last did, everything simmering from his chest. Rages because he needs to, he _wants_ to, because he knew there was really only half a point searching for his father and the one who took him from him and his mother (who’s gone too, gone gone _gone_ ) with the kind of person and kind of body and kind of _strength_ he has. He has never felt so close to finding that person, but what point is there when he stands _no chance_?

He throws one more solid punch—except, ha, it’s solid by no one’s standards but his own—before he crumples. Dropping down to the ground, he sighs and thumps his head against the wood.

He doesn’t know how long he stays curled in front of a beaten house, half taken over by nature, but his bones feel weary, and he’s definitely opened a number of wounds with his tantrum—for the lack of a better term. He feels the blood seeping through his uniform and he wonders if he looks like road kill.

A buzz zooms to him and he groans weakly. A hummingbird chirps at him, tapping its beak on his cheek. He smiles, lifting a hand to pet along its body with his index finger. “Hey there,” he greets softly.

The hummingbird chirps in reply and he chuckles. “You wouldn’t know a way to get in this house, do you?”

It tilts his head, flying down to the ground.

He adjusts himself to lean against the door and looks down. He sighs, “yeah, I figured.”

It chirps again and hops twice on its place, then it bends its head to tap a couple of times on the hand closest to it. Hiccup chuckles again and smoothens its feathers with a finger. It hops again, but this time it hops away.

“Hey!” Hiccup calls out, “where are you going?”

The bird disappears into a bush.

Hiccup drops his head to the door. He tries to adjust his position to keep his body from hurting too much but nothing works. He breathes out in frustration and presses against a wound just above his navel.

The bird shrills a cry again and when Hiccup looks down, he can see it’s dragged a key just a few centimeters from the bush and is tapping its beak on the metal.

Hiccup startles. “Oh! Oh wow,” he scrambles for the key, “shit, you’re amazing.” He pushes himself up, finding purchase on the door, and hopes against hope as he tries to slot the key into the hole that it works.

The lock clicks open when he turns the key and he laughs brightly. He turns to the bird with a bright smile, petting it and saying ecstatically, “ _thank you_.”

He limps inside, the hummingbird flitting around him, and looks around the house. It’s just as shabby and broken down as the outside, plants growing through the cracks and vines creeping both from outside and inside and wrapping around the walls and the different things lying around.

From what Hiccup can see, there is a hallway and two rooms before that—assuming that they’re rooms. He limps along, eyes taking in everything and trying to decide where he should head to rest. He heads to the closest door, the one that’s more intact than the other. The bird trills happily at him and he looks at it with a smile as he twists the knob open.

“What do you think is in there?” he asks the bird. His eyes doesn’t leave the bird, but maybe they should have because he takes one wrong step and comes crashing down the stairs he didn’t expect.

Hiccup screams, body hitting the stairs, and he hopes fervently, with the part of his mind that’s not focused on the falling down part, that he doesn’t end up twisting his ankle—either of them. He hits the ground with a loud thud, wishing that the crunch was just from his brain. He’s definitely bleeding harder now, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to go back to school tomorrow, much less stand up at all.

He scrambles along his body, watery eyes shut tight. His shirt is damp with a mixture of blood and sweat, and now, so are his pants. He curls up on the floor, biting on his cheek as he tries to stop himself from crying. Both of his hands are damp with blood, shaking from the fall and from the punches he delivered a while ago. He hears the familiar sound of the bird calling, loud and unending and he coughs.

“It’s ok,” he calls out weakly, “I’m okay.”

He presses a hand against one of the open wounds, and his free hand searches for purchase. He breathes deep and buckles himself. _1, 2, 3_. He pushes himself up, arm shaking at his weight, and his hand slides across the floor and he feels cool cloth press against his palm.

That’s the last thing he’s aware of before the cloth wraps himself across his wrist and he’s engulfed. He screams.

(“Okay, seriously, Hic, why did you bring me here for?” Jack asks, waving a hand to gesture around him.

They’re behind the school, where Hiccup dragged him away first thing in the morning. Hiccup thanks everything above that his going to school bright and early wasn’t for naught and that he found Jack loitering by the front of Berkian High School. He’s wearing Toothless—and no matter what the… _thing_ says, he won’t stop calling it Toothless. He’s only doing it for his sanity—and that’s the only reason he can even bother moving about.

Hiccup shushes him aggressively. And then shushes him again when Jack opens his mouth. He shuffles through his duffle bag, thankfully normal-looking enough to not attract too much attention. Jack leans over his shoulder, not surprisingly a little too much to see through Hiccup’s hands that Hiccup ends up elbowing him for space.

He makes a soft _aha_ , as he finds the pole arm, end wrapped firmly with cloth. He pulls it up  and Jack stumbles back in surprise.

“Whoa! What the hell is that?”

Hiccup shushes him again and unwinds the cloth. When the metal glints, only a little, against the light, Jack stumbles back even more and slaps a hand on his mouth.

“ _What the hell is **that**_?” Jack yells through his palm. He presses his hand even harder on his mouth when he feels a scream coming on, Hiccup standing up and the pole arm swinging as he turns to Jack.

“This was left when my dad disappeared,” he gestures the weapon, swallowing a lump at the mention of his father. “It’s double bladed but,” this time he lifts to show the butt end—except it’s not really a butt end because there’s a sign of it having been cut in half, “there’s only this. The other half is supposedly with the one who took him.” His eyes harden and Jack clears his throat loudly—or at least supposedly loudly, with his hand still covering his mouth.

“That’s, uhm,” Jack clears his throat again, swiping the hand that was covering his mouth, “really something. _But_ ,” he looks wildly at Hiccup and the entirely too-threatening blade, “why are you showing me this exactly? _Why_ did you bring this?”

“Look,” Hiccup says plainly.

And then he swings the pole arm in a graceful arc, successfully cutting a branch.

Jack covers his mouth again with his hand—or both of them—and screams loudly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hiccup rushes out, placing the weapon down against the trunk of the tree he just damaged. “It’s off it’s off!”

Jack breathes out shakily and releases his mouth again.

“It’s just, I was never able to do that,” Hiccup explains, “I’m not exactly the best at handling _anything_.” He swings his arms around in explanation. “But—you see—there’s this—thing.”

“Thing,” Jack replies, maybe not fully comprehending, mind still on a loop on Hiccup and the pole arm.

“Yeah,” Hiccup agrees quickly. He shuffles along, rubbing his face with his hand. “There’s this—clothes.”

“Clothes.”

“That kind of gave me these powers.”

“ _What_.”)

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post found here](http://rainbowbarfeverywhere.tumblr.com/post/88272955499/magical-clothes-what)


End file.
